Journey of the Assassin
by Basikilos
Summary: A companion to Conversations with a Poring. After many attempts on his life and his pet Poring's, the Assassin Cross decides to leave his Guild.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine! Gravity's!

A/N: I thought about making Conversations with a Poring multiple chapters, but realized that the tone is super different and the rating'll go up a bit, so this'll have to stand on its own.

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And so Loki, the legendary Assassin Cross of Sunset, became known as "that Assassin Cross with the poring". He didn't mind the title and the occasional jeers. As long as he could continue being an assassin, nothing fazed him.

His days were brighter now, and he always carried a small supply of apples in his inventory.

But his colleagues thought him weak now.

They thought him unworthy of the Assassin Cross Guild.

"He is not qualified to take on assassination jobs," they whispered behind his back. "We should kick him out of the Guild."

Behind his back, but he heard them all the same. The Assassin Cross Guild did not simply "kick out" members. Once initiated, an assassin would know too much information, too many spy networks, too many scandalous secrets, to ever be permitted to leave.

So he began sleeping with a katar by his bedside.

Assassination attempts came frequently now,

A poisonous substance slipped into his drink. He was able to detoxify it quickly enough.

Finely ground glass embedded in his food. His sharp eyes spotted them before he ate.

Knocked into a room and locked in with an angeling. He had been able to defeat it, and the poring had been safe since it was still a monster.

Now he knew the guild was getting desperate. He knew that they would begin to resort to more violent, less subtle methods of assassination.

In the dark of night, he heard someone with careful fingers picking apart his lock. Silently, he stood up, fingering the katar in his hand. His room had no windows, so there was no need to fear an ambush from behind. Rubbing a small amount of deadly poison onto the blade of his katar, he turned to his poring. "Stay back, and out of sight. There's probably more than one of them."

He cloaked.

The door opened without a sound. "They must have oiled the hinges," he thought. Whoever who was trying to kill him was very careful.

Standing there was a solitary high wizard.

"Probably hired," he thought. "But he can't be alone…there must be at least one or two assassins behind him, cloaked to throw me off guard."

The wizard walked into the room. Seeing no one, he raised his arms and brought forth a thundering lord of vermilion from the skies, destroying his room and sending a ghostly moonlight through every corner, illuminating the room. A small pink blob hid behind the remains of a pillow. Poring!

This wizard had instacast, he realized. He silently cursed himself for not wearing his unfrozen cloak. He should have expected them to pull something like this.

He darted forward, and killed the wizard with two strikes. In the space between the two, however, the wizard found time to raise his hands and summon a storm gust.

And he froze.

Two figures appeared out of nowhere. One grinned at him and stepped over the fallen wizard in the doorway.

"Well, well. Long have I waited for this day. The day I get to strike you down with my own two hands."

Go ahead, he thought angrily. Break this prison of ice and cold and set me free. Free to plunge this katar into your heart.

"You've gone soft ever since that poring came into your life," the assassin sneered. "But I know better than to strike you when you're frozen. Nothing will happen, and the ice will shatter. No, I think I'll have my friend here shatter the ice, so I can strike the killing blow the moment you unfreeze. Fenrir!"

The assassin ghosted across the floor to stand next to him. "Yes?"

"Shatter the ice!" the first assassin commanded. "And I will strike the killing blow."

He realized there would be no escape from this one. When the ice shattered, there would be a split second of momentary paralysis before he would be able to strike. And in that split second, he was vulnerable. He stared straight at his attacker, refusing to close his eyes, refusing to wince.

Shards of ice flew everywhere.

He watched impassively as the blade approached his heart. His own katar came up, but he knew he would be a fraction too late, a split second too slow. He only hoped that the poring had run away, to safer fields, where it could live happily ever after.

His hope was destroyed as the poring took the blade for him. There were no sad goodbyes, no dying moments. It was all too quick and too fast, all motion and blur, and the broken pieces of his pet lay on the floor before him. No, not even his pet, he hadn't even bothered to ever give it an unripe apple.

And suddenly he realized he could move.

With a growl of rage, he leapt forward.

The assassin was cleaning off his dagger, muttering, "Stupid poring got in my way. Now the blade's sticky." He saw the attack and made to block the katar, but stumbled and tripped over the high wizard's body.

Loki swooped down, the moon casting an eerie shadow off his cloak, and finished the first assassin off.

The other one, Fenrir, would have cloaked by now. Doing the same, Loki swathed himself in shadows and waited.

Time passed.

The moon slowly inched its way across the sky. The seconds passed, stretching into agonizing minutes, hours.

A Muka whistled, a deafening sound in the otherwise complete absence of it.

The silence continued.

The floorboards creaked. The open door slid ajar by a millimeter.

He pounced. Sinking his katar into nothing, he felt a solid weight beneath his blade and knew he had succeeded. Materializing out of thin air, Fenrir turned, his back bleeding from the stab wound.

"Not fatal," he hissed. Fenrir lunged at him with a sonic blow, but missed. Startled, he found that he could no longer move. His limbs felt heavy and leaden, and he collapsed where he stood.

Loki waggled the blade before Fenrir's glazed eyes. "Poison."

Nudging the dying man aside with his foot, took his weapons and headgear, and fled into the night.

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A/N: Oh no! Poor Poring :(


	2. Chapter 2

In the middle of the first level of the labyrinth, he sat and reminisced.

"Remember, poring?" he asked aloud.

"This was where we first met."

The porings gently bobbed around him, harmless and happy.

Ever since he had fled the Guild, he had donned new clothing, taken up a new name, and learned a new craft. He made his living playing beautiful melodies while wandering the land, taking care to remain far away from Morroc. The slender fingers that had been so skilled at slipping poison into drinks, slitting tendons and throats, and manipulating multiples knives at a time he now used for plucking strings. Snorri, the bard who had taught him, had been impressed by his natural talent.

"Your fingers, they dance across the strings more gracefully than the gypsies do! And you say you have never had any training with the lyre?" Snorri had exclaimed. "Now if you would only consent to sing…for even those who are tone-deaf can be trained to become the most skilled and dramatic singers of tales."

But he would not sing. Poring's death remained too fresh in his mind, and assassins rarely had talent for the dramatic. We are only skilled at whispering lies, he thought. Manipulation and trickery. Nothing like singing tales and telling stories of brave warriors.

After his apprenticeship, Snorri had asked him to continue traveling with him. "Though you yourself refuse to sing, I could play the harmony and cover the vocals. We have played many a lovely duet together."

He had politely declined. If the Guild ever found him, whoever he was with would surely be killed as well. Perhaps, one day, when he was certain all the traces of his past had been completely erased, and his history would no longer haunt him…maybe then he would join his mentor. But the path of a wandering minstrel is long and twisted, and it was doubtful that they would ever meet again.

So he had wandered, accompanied only by the mournful tune of his lyre, to where he had first met the poring.

"I didn't even give you a name," he murmured idly, tuning his lyre.

He was suddenly accosted by a squishy, pink, blob.

"Poring?"

It nuzzled him affectionately. No, maybe not _his_ poring. But the resemblance was uncannily similar. The way the poring quizzically gazed at him, the way it whistled so merrily _the very same notes _the old poring did, its inability to resist the urge to hug a dangerous creature like himself –

It burped, and spat out a baphomet card.

He froze in delighted shock. It could only be a respawn. Once every thousand years, the Norns, grown tired and weary of their weaving, would slip up and make a mistake. Perhaps two allied countries would go to war. Or two who were not meant to be soul mates would fall in love. Or, in the most extreme cases, someone who was dead would return to life.

"Poring!" He threw his arms around the creature. The other porings gathered around the baphomet card, nibbling it to pieces, but he didn't care.

Gradually, though, reality began to sink in. He couldn't be with Poring all the time anymore, not with the Guild still hunting him. They were assassins of the highest caliber, and it was, well…a poring. It stood no chance of survival should they find him. No, the best he could do would be to leave this Poring in peace. He stood up abruptly, the poring squealing indignantly as it fell from his lap.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye."

He turned and stepped through the portal out of the labyrinth.

*whistle*

The oh-so-familiar sound rang in the still air. Looking down at his feet, he spotted the poring again.

"No! You don't want to follow me anymore," he exclaimed. "Go back into the dungeon, live happily ever after!"

It persisted, latching onto his foot and refusing to let go.

He shook his leg. "Get off!"

It huffed and merely clung tighter.

"For Odin's sake, last time you _died_ following me!" he shouted. "Are you so eager for death that you pursue it? Go away!"

"Loki?"

Porings did not speak. He was not alone in Prontera field. He grew still, but did not turn around. "That is no longer a name that I answer to."

"Then whatever do you go by? Ah, never mind, I can probably guess... Only you ever had the audacity to claim the names of gods."

"What do you want, Chaos? We have carried out many a mission together, and I do not wish to see you dead by my hand."

"Really now? I thought that you'd sold all your weapons to buy that lyre you clutch within your hands."

"There are ways to kill a man without weapons," he replied.

The man behind him laughed. "Always so grim. Listen to me, Loki! I bring not death nor torture, but glad tidings."

He remained tense. "Explain."

"You remember that I was appointed to the council of the Guild, do you not? We are the ones with power over all those in the Guild. Fenrir and Zephidel's attempts to assassinate you were completely out of line, and personally, I think they got what they deserved. Zephidel in particular was always an arrogant little snot." He paused. "Sorry, that was a bit unrelated. Anyways, the council has decided to offer you your original position within the guild, with no punishments despite the fact that you killed two capable assassins."

"And if I refuse?" He had turned around now, and looked Chaos in the eyes.

Chaos shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to tell them you politely declined."

He narrowed his eyes. "And in the event they don't take too kindly to that?"

Chaos carelessly waved a hand. "Oh, of course, I'll just tell them that I dueled you and killed you. Dear old Loki keeping the Assassin Guild secrets safe and sound, straight to his own grave."

"And you would let me walk free?"

"Like you've said, we've fought together often. Many a time you've saved me from a life-ending blunder. And honestly, you've been on the loose for about three years. If you were going to blab, you would've done it already."

"Well, then I decline."

"I rather thought you would," Chaos replied, grinning. After he had taken a few steps away he looked over his shoulder and waved. "Have a good life…Bragi."

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A/N: Reviews are loved! :D


	3. Chapter 3

When Chaos had left, the ex-assassin knelt down and patted the poring on the head. "I guess that means you can stay with me. I wonder if I will ever cross paths with Snorri again…"

He let a small smile escape his lips. Looks like Chaos really did know him too well. Able to guess his new name on the very first try…he withdrew an unripe apple from his inventory and held it out to the poring.

It sniffed it cautiously, then eagerly gobbled it up. "Chu!" it chirped.

He grinned and patted it on the head. "About time I gave you a name, too. But first let's return to Prontera, it's getting dark and I'd sleep better with a roof over my head."

Back in Prontera city, he heard the melodic tones of a lyre. As he rushed to where the crowd stood, he began to hear a singing voice layered above the lyre's notes. It was Snorri!

He waited for the bard to complete his song and then elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. "Snorri!" he called out.

The bard's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "Bragi! I thought we had parted ways forever."

"It appears that fate has dictated otherwise," he replied. "And my circumstances have changed. I am a different man now…If your offer still stands, I would be honored to play the harmony to your tunes."

"But of course! Come, let's rent a room in Prontera Inn, and you can tell me all about it. And who's this adorable new pet you've gained?" he smiled down at the poring, and the poring giggled and bounced towards him.

"…Well…I haven't named him yet. Couldn't think of anything appropriate," Bragi replied.

"Well then, right after we rent a room, eat some dinner, and get settled, that'll be the first thing we can do. Such a loyal pet surely deserves a name."

Bragi smiled. "Yes, he truly is one of the most loyal pets."

Once inside Prontera Inn, after a meal of savory chicken and delicious apple pies, Bragi and Snorri sat down and began trying to find a name for the poring.

Bragi began. Reading off a list that he had messily scrawled down earlier, he began with the two crows of Odin. They were suitably epic names to match his own, he thought.

"Huginn?"

The poring frowned, huffing with displeasure.

"Alright, how about Munnin?"

Again his idea was met with a negative response.

"Sleipnir?"

"Gleipnir?"

"Skoll?"

"Vaan?"

"Niddhog?"

"Vali?"

"Siegfried?"

"Audhulma?"

"Sigrun?"

He put down the list, and glanced at the poring skeptically. "Heimdall's beard, are you just huffing at me for the hell of it?"

It dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Mr. Bouncy?

Bragi glanced at Snorri. "What?"

"How about Mr. Bouncy? After all, he does bounce around quite a lot."

He scoffed. "That's such a silly name, I doubt he'll like it!"

The poring squealed.

"No, look, he likes it," Snorri replied indignantly. "And I think it's a great name, for what it's worth!"

"Really? Mr. Bouncy?" Bragi raised an eyebrow at the poring.

It nodded cheerfully.

And so it was that the ex-assassin Bragi and the famous minstrel Snorri took to travelling the vast continent of Rune Midgard accompanied by a poring named Mr. Bouncy.

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A/N: Yay! Done! Random plotbunny that turned much longer than I thought it would.


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